


red is the color

by orphan_account



Category: Reign (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-21
Updated: 2014-05-21
Packaged: 2018-01-25 22:57:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1665584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Mary closed her eyes, she was in France, not England; and her husband, wearing a coat the same color of her best dress, was running with her towards the castle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	red is the color

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for Day 2 of 7 Days of Frary, which is supposed to be our favorite matching outfit of Frary. And since I can't make gifs, I made this. Day 1 will be posted soon, if my tumblr's still broken. enjoy day 2!

Mary woke with the dawn, and with a dog's tongue lapping at her cheek. "Stirling," she muttered, a laugh escaping her despite herself. Stirling, though old and graying and risking dropping dead at any moment, still managed to wag his tail and rest his head on her chest. Mary turned, running her fingers over his favorite spot on his ear, and smiled at her faithful dog.

"How did we end up here, ami?" she whispered, and Stirling's tail wagged harder. The two ladies with her stirred at the noise, and one slowly awoke.

"Milady, are you all right?" she whispered, her voice half-muddled by sleep. Mary kissed Stirling's nose and sat up, pulling her dog closer to her.

"Quite well, my dear," she assured the lady. "Get some more rest; our job won't start for another few hours." She petted Stirling until he fell asleep on top of her; and when his head dropped onto his paws and his eyes fluttered closed, Mary kept stroking him, staring outside her window to watch the sun peek above the plains of England.

Of course, it wasn't long before the ladies must rise again and begin the task they had been charged with since she began her stay in the castle. They readied her with steady hands and tear-filled eyes, and Mary smiled at them through the mirror. When one lady clasped the black cloak around her shoulders, Mary grabbed her hand. “Thank you for your service,” she told her, and the lady-in-waiting bowed her head. “You as well,” she said to the second lady, who attempted a smile. “I will recommend you both to God when I meet Him at last.”

The sun was inching higher in the sky, and Mary welcomed every minute that passed. When she was finally ready and the ladies stepped away, she turned around and whistled softly. Stirling opened his eyes and jumped to the floor, slowly making his way across the room. Mary met him halfway and knelt, burying her face in his neck.

Stirling was dry and warm, and when she closed her eyes she could remember a time when she was far younger and far happier. She could remember _France_.

"The race is almost done, boy," she whispered to Stirling, who responded with a soft whine. Mary pulled away and kissed his nose, standing straight and beckoning to her ladies. One held up her skirt, and the other managed to tuck Stirling underneath her scarlet dress. The first lady lowered the dress and the cloak, hiding his bulk, and curtseyed to her.

Mary was silently praying the rosary when the guards arrived. One of them, the Earl of Kent, stepped forward and offered her a shallow bow. "Milady, it is time."

Mary smiled. "My lords, I thank you for the kindness you will do me today, for today all my troubles will leave me."

The Englishmen exchanged glances, but none replied, which was perfectly fine with Mary. Stirling's comforting warmth radiated against the backs of her legs, and he was a good dog and made no noise as they walked to the scaffold.

The crowd was silent as she climbed the scaffold, and when she'd finished climbing the stairs the executioner dropped to his knees. "Madam, forgive me for what I must do," he said to her, masked head bowed.

Mary smiled and raised him to his feet. "I forgive you with all my heart, sir. For now, I hope, you shall make an end of all my troubles." The executioner stepped away, and her ladies in waiting drew closer to her. One unclasped her black cloak, and it fell away to reveal the scarlet dress she wore underneath it. A small murmur ran amongst the crowd, those who knew of the color's significance, but Mary was past caring what they spoke of her. Red was another color to her, more meaningful than the color of martyrs.

She helped her ladies take off her jewelry and handed over her rosary most willingly.  _I have made my peace with God_ , she thought, and smiled wider. Stirling trembled against her legs. _The race is almost done, boy._ "I never had such grooms to make me unready, nor have I put off my clothes before such company," she told the crowd. One of her ladies sniffled behind her, and when she turned to take off her pomander beads, both of them were crying. Mary handed her pomander beads to one lady and wiped her face with her thumb. "Do not cry for me, children," she whispered. "For while my sufferings are over, you still have your life to live."

She kissed her ladies on their foreheads, then turned and kneeled on the cushion resting in front of the executioner's block. Any sounds the crowd made - crying, crossing, vocally praying for her - Mary ignored them. Stirling was still a steady weight on the backs of her legs, and she lifted her head to stare at the castle walls. "We praise thee, O Lord, and we know thee to be God," she whispered, raising her arms up and stretching out her head. Her lips continued to move as she stared resolutely at the castle walls, but then a movement in the crowd drew her eyes.

Francis, wearing the same scarlet coat he'd been buried in, pushed his way through the crowd to stand at the front and watch. Mary stopped her whispers, her heart pounding in her chest, and tears pricked her eyes. _Francis, I've missed you._ Her husband smiled widely at her, the sunlight shining in his golden curls, and raised his hand toward her. When Mary closed her eyes, she was in France, not England; and her husband, wearing a coat the same color of her best dress, was running with her towards the castle.

 _I'll love you until the day I die,_ she remembered, and smiled when she felt the barest touch of steel.

 

 


End file.
